


Harmony Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

by Meow_MeowCATchow



Series: Harmony Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Eventual Romance, For Me, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Minerva McGonagall Raises Harry Potter, Not Beta Read, Other, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meow_MeowCATchow/pseuds/Meow_MeowCATchow
Summary: Harmony Potter didn't know she was special or being more special than being someone with actual, no joke magic. She didn't know how special she was until her Hogwarts letter arived and her kinda mother Minerva McGonagall told her the truth of how she came to raise her."How can I be a savior? I didn't do anything, It wasn't me I was just the unlucky baby to have been born on a terrible day with a terrible curse to my name."
Series: Harmony Potter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778611
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. The Girl Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to anyone reading this, Does anyone even read the notes?  
> Anyways this is my first fanfiction so don't hate to much, constructive critism is welcome and don't be upset if this story ins't regulary updated.  
> Enjoy the story and thanks for event clicking on it.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors.  
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as un-Dursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a little daughter, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that, one so strange and dangerous. 

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his highchair. Mrs. Dursley noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window but did not bring attention to it pretending to be ignorant of it. At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. 

He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day. But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. 

As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for something maybe a cult or something. Yes, that would be it.  
The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills. Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.  
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their daughter, Harmony"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter named Harmony. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called Harmony. He'd never even seen the girl. It might have been Harley. Or Harper. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...  
He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell.

It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare,

"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, or nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" 

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle a hard-feat mind you, and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.  
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw — and it didn't improve his mood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes. 

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. 

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!") . Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin.

"Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. 

"Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he  
didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their daughter — she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's her name again? Holly, isn't it?"

"Harmony Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite  
agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, freaks, he didn't think he could bear it. The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. 

The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind.... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them.... How very wrong he was. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive.  
It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all. A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched, and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered,

"I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement life went on a normal or normal as everyday life seemed. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall. "

He turned to smile at the tabby, but In its place was instead a rather severe-looking woman, she was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing to cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into to tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. 

"How did you know it was me? " she asked.

"My dear Professor, I 'go never seen to cat sit so stiffly. "

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on to brick wall all day, " said Professor McGonagall.

" All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”  
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh, and it is, everyone's Entering the day by delivering it by delivering it by making a difference, all right, " she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be to bit more careful, but do not - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news. " She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living room window. "I heard Item. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. I have never had much sense. "

"You can’t blame them, " said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years. "

"I know that, " said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's do not reason to I know our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors. "  
She threw to sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn’t, so she went on;  
“A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?”

“It certainly seems so,” said Dumbledore. ‘We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?”

“A what?”

“A sherbet lemon. They’re a kind of Muggle sweet I’m rather fond of.”

“No, thank you,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn’t think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. “As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone –“

“My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this “You-Know-Who” nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort.”

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice.  
“It all gets so confusing. if we keep saying “You-Know-Who”.’ I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort’s name.”

“I know you haven’t,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding half- exasperated, half- admiring. “But you’re different. Everyone knows you’re the only one You-Know – oh, all right, Voldemort – was frightened of.”

“You flatter me,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Voldemort had powers I will never have.”

“Only because you’re too – well – noble to use them.”

“It’s lucky it’s dark. I haven’t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.”

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, “The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone’s saying? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever ‘everyone’ was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

“What they’re saying,” she pressed on, “is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they’re – dead .”

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. “Lily and James … I can’t believe it … I didn’t want to believe it … Oh, Albus …”

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I know … I know …” he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she went on. “That’s not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potters’ daughter, Harmony. But – he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harmony Potter, Voldemort’s power some how broke – and that’s why he’s gone.”

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

‘It’s – it’s true?’ faltered Professor McGonagall. “After all he’s done … all the people he’s killed … he couldn’t kill a little girl? It’s just astounding … of all the things to stop him … but how in the name of heaven did Harmony survive?”

“We can only guess,” said Dumbledore. “We may never know.”

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said,  
“Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by the way?”

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re here, of all places?”

“I’ve come to bring Harmony to her aunt and uncle. They’re the only family she has left now.”

“You don’t mean – you can’t mean the people who live here ?” cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.  
“Dumbledore – you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harmony Potter come and live here!”

“It’s the best place for her,” said Dumbledore firmly. “Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when she’s older. I’ve written them a letter.”

“A letter?” repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. “Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She’ll be famous – a legend – I wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harmony Potter Day in future – there will be books written about Harmony – every child in our world will know her name!”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half- moon glasses.

“It would be enough to turn any girls’ head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won’t even remember! Can’t you see how much better off she’ll be, growing up away from all that until she’s ready to take it?”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, ‘Then I’ll take her, she won’t know she’s famous, she’ll be safe, I won’t stand here and watch you put her with this... horrible family.’

Dumbledore looked affronted as if he expected her to agree with him, he cleared his throat looking quite regretful “She’ll be safest here, she’ll be safer with her family.”

“If she’s left here she won’t even have a family, if being with her family is safest for her then leave her here a week and I’ll watch the family, If it’s not safe then I’ll take her and rase her as my own.” She said leaving no room for negotiation

The sparkle in Dumbledore’s eye dimmed slightly as he agreed.

“So, how exactly is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?” She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harmony underneath it.

“Hagrid’s bringing her.”

“You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?”

“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Dumbledore.

“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, “but you can’t pretend that he’s not careless. He does tend to – what was that?”

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. “At last. And where did you get that motorbike?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. “Young Sirius Black lent it me. I’ve got her, sir.”

“No problems, were there?”

“No, sir – house was almost destroyed but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin’ around. She fell asleep as we was flyin’ over Bristol.”

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of ruby-red hair on her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

“Is that where –?” whispered Professor McGonagall.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “She’ll have that scar forever.”

“Couldn’t we do something about it? A charm perhaps?’

“I could, but I wouldn’t. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give her here, Hagrid – we’d better get this over with.” Dumbledore took Harmony in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys’ house.

“Could I – could I say goodbye to her, sir?” asked Hagrid.

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harmony and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall. “You’ll wake the Muggles!”

“S-s- sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. “But I c- c-can’t stand it – Lily an’ James dead – an’ poor little Harmony off ter live with Muggles –“

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,” Professor McGonagall whispered leaving ‘the for now' out ofher sentence patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harmony gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harmony’s blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to have gone out.

“Well,” said Dumbledore finally, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a very muffl ed voice. ‘I’d best get this bike away. G’night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore, nodding to her.

Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner of the house of number four Private drive to left of the bundle of blankets on the step. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harmony Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her as she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the week being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley … She couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: ‘ To Harmony Potter – the girl who lived’


	2. Sometimes Sadness Makes you Grow as a Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little insight into Harmony's childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the second chapter its way shorter than the first one but... whatever.  
> Mcgonagall is pretty OC. if you're wondering about Elphinstone he is an actual cannon character so, I hope you enjoy.

Nearly ten years had passed since Minerva had taken the orphaned Harmony Potter to raise with her husband as their own and a lot had changed too. Harmony was a small and skinny girl of 11, she had unruly, thick, ruby red hair with a fringe that shaped her pale face that fell to her small shoulders. She had almond-shaped, bright emerald green eyes and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on her forehead. Years of warmth filled the small family’s life and the sound of joyful laughter always seemed to echo around the once silent home, such happiness surrounded the small, homely cabin just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. 

Even though the couple were unable to have their own child, Harmony seamlessly filled that once sad and empty spot in their lives. The cottage was full of memories, from the photographs on the mantelpiece above the fireplace or the markings of Harmony’s growth of height on the frame of the kitchen pantry’s door. While the cabin seemed small so much so that anyone who did not have or know about magic world, would find the fact that more than one person lived in such a small home mind boggling. The inside had been modified by a charm called Capacious extremis such a charm allowed the inhabitants of said house, to live quite comfortably in the enlarged interior. To Harmony and most likely any other child who was bought up around magic, to not having such thing such in their daily life would perhaps be quite odd. 

Her childhood was full of memories of things like warm hands stroking her head by the fireplace at night as Minerva read her students parchments, until Harmony fell asleep only to somehow wake up back in her bed in the mornings, days spent reading imagining herself in her novels, telling Elphinstone or Elphie as his name was once an impossible name to pronounce as a toddler as well as Minerva to Minnie, the names having since then stuck. She would tell them of her many adventures between the cover and in the pages of her favourite books. Elphie would always laugh at the conclusion of her stories and tell her to that dreams will make her who she became and to never, ever stop dreaming.

Whenever Harmony would ask Minnie why she stayed with her and Elphinstone as she knew that it would be impossible to truly be their blood child never doubting that she in their eyes was theirs. When other children would ask why her parents were so old and taunt her when she replied that she was adopted, claiming that she was a disgrace so that why her parents didn’t want her in the way that only a child could find such a weakness. She would always get the same answer and gentle reassurance, the stubborn look in Minnie’s eyes when answering her questions, confirmed to her that what she always seemed to say was indeed true.

“You’ve never just been ‘staying with us’ as you would call it, it is just simply the hand you have been dealt. That is not to say that we do not love you as our own and in place of our own, that would be absurd. … Harmony what I’m trying to say is that even though you may have your own family or find one in the form of your friends, you will never and I mean never not be our child, it doesn’t matter if you become a professional quidditch player or a potion’s master, I will always be proud of you”

“But what if I can’t live up to expectations? Or what if I do something bad and you hate me for it?” Harmony suddenly asked.

“I promise you this, you will never have to try to make me proud of you, you being you is enough. There will also never be a time when I will hate you, I may be disappointed in you but want you to always consider your actions. I don’t think I could ever hate you… Harmony, I want you to remember that a good person can do bad things, sometimes make bad decisions. It doesn't make them bad or evil, the thing that makes them a bad person is when they feel no regret for what they did. The fact that you had to ask, assures me.”

Harmony would smile with tears in her emerald green eyes every time and rush to hug them tightly around the waist as she let herself come undone in their arms.  
Things were not always as happy and as much as time could give the more it eventually could take. In 1988, when Harmony was 7 years old Elphinstone died from a Venomous Tentacula bite, the funeral was held on a dreary day and when they said goodbye the heavens seemed to weep with them. His Tombstone read ‘Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.’ For the first time in Harmony’s life her colourful childhood turned grey. Elphie’s death changed Harmony not but in the way that it seemed to change Minnie whose heart seemed to ache in grief, no it made Harmony want to appreciate the precious life. She never thought herself more than others as some did, she just preferred to stay at home and read even though that may have seemed rude to others. It was something that she did often now, she spent most of the day at home and sometimes at Hagrid’s, when she eventually convinced Minnie.

Minerva taught during the day and spent the holidays with Harmony, but her sorrow seemed to follow her. Harmony knew that her mother figure was lonely as she felt the same, it was quiet in the cabin during the days without the laughter that Elphie once caused with his horrible jokes that Harmony was sure he got from the muggle joke book that he would hide behind his newspaper when Minnie walked past and blink cheekily at her when Minnie’s back was turned. Or when he would laugh at her story telling a continue to tell her to dream and the gentle smile on his face when pat her head after she would make his favourite tea, in his favourite tea set.

Months after his death she had come out of her room for water early in the morning to find Minerva cry on the floor in front of a broken cup, one from Elphinstone’s favourite tea set. Minnie always tried to hide her sadness from Harmony and sometimes came off as distant. It was in moments like this when the perfectly made mask cracked, that reminded her Minnie was just as human as her. Harmony slowly mad her way to Minnie and then hugged her, they cried in each other’s arms for what felt hours. In that moment Harmony realized that when you lose someone close to you, a person who knows you more than yourself, than sometimes grief can take a hold of them. They then reminisce on all of the things they could have done with the person they lost with constant thoughts of the what ifs. Eventually the sands of time slow and the ache of grief and burning sadness will cool, never to go away but to become happy memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, about the ending though.


End file.
